


Reckoner

by MarkoftheAsphodel



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Subkiddy Universe, The Old Lie, Tragedy, War is Bad for Children and Other Living Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarkoftheAsphodel/pseuds/MarkoftheAsphodel
Summary: Deimne, Dalvin, and Tristan get wind of a plan to capture the stronghold of Miletos with minimal casualties. The downside of this plan may be more than they're willing to live with. What will a trio of perfectly ordinary boys do at this turning point of a holy war? More specifically, what is a child ardent for some desperate glory to do with the chance given him?





	1. Blood Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a subkiddy universe— in other words, all the ladies of Sigurd’s army perished or never married and so the substitute kids exist in place of the holy blood eugenics babies.

_Miletos, 778. Zero Days Left._

_If the plan goes right, by this time tomorrow you’ll be dead._

-x-

_Three Days Left._

Most in Lord Seliph’s army tried to shirk off guard duty. Guarding the camp was kid stuff, and guarding Lewyn’s tent was considered to be even worse— like standing in the corner as a punishment. Deimne was probably the only one who didn’t feel that way, and he happily took up the slack when his friends Tristan and Dalvin tried to find more exciting ways of serving Lord Seliph. He’d learned early on that the things adults said to one another when there were no children around was often _entirely_ different than what they said when they knew that little eyes and ears were paying attention, and there wasn’t any better place to get the naked truth than by listening in on their tactician’s conferences. 

On this warm and clear and strangely quiet night a pair of unexpected guests arrived arm-in-arm: Prince Leif and his sister Altena. The prince of Leonster-- or New Thracia, as everyone was calling it now-- nodded to Deimne as they passed. The usually friendly princess didn’t even glance his way, though, and Deimne noticed that Altena looked strangely pale. After a moment he realized the lip-rouge she always wore was missing… but some of it was stuck to her teeth like maybe she’d chewed it off. He bobbed a quick bow to them both as they ducked into the tent, then placed his ear close to the tent flap in hopes of hearing something interesting.

About twenty minutes later the royal siblings departed and Deimne hadn’t heard a single thing of interest from inside the tent. He felt a little deflated then, but perhaps Princess Altena was only reporting that she wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to go flying the next day. Not long afterward, though, Prince Leif’s guardian Lord Finn came down the path to Lewyn’s tent, but without the prince in tow. Deimne didn’t have much time to ponder what was going on with the crew from Leonster, because a few moments after that the odd couple of Prince Shannan and Lord Oifey came to call on Lewyn. None of them really seemed to notice Deimne as they passed by either, which was strange in itself because Oifey usually did have at least a kind word or two for his former student.

All four of the “adults”— save General Hannibal who was back in Pereluke— having an unplanned conference. This was either very good or very bad. Deimne leaned as close to the tent flap as he dared in hopes of an answer to the questions popping up in his mind.

-x-

“I’m not kidding. They talked about the meaning of ‘blood sacrifice’ for the next two hours.”

Deimne drew up his knees against his chest and looked up at his friends. He could tell they didn’t really believe him. Tristan shook his head and Dalvin just sort of grunted a dismissal.

“That’s like what’s happening to the kids being collected by these Lopt cultists, isn’t it? Human sacrifice?”

“Well, yes and no? And maybe,” said Deimne. “They talked _about_ that, but it’s not the answer to the question.”

“So what’s the question?” asked Tristan. 

“I don’t know! I think Prince Leif and his sister know, and that’s why Princess Altena looked so unhappy. It was like they were all trying to figure out how to solve a riddle, but I don’t know what the riddle actually _says_ , so I’m just lost.”

Deimne rocked back and forth a little on the floor of their tent as he waited for either Tristan or Dalvin to say something. 

“I have a really bad feeling about this,” he offered at last, in hopes one of them would just respond. Tristan sighed and sat down cross-legged on the floor beside Deimne, and Dalvin followed a few moments later.

“Well, whatever it is, the veterans didn’t figure it out,” said Tristan. This was the term they’d settled on for describing the likes of Lewyn and Oifey, a compromise between Dalvin’s impertinent “the old guys” and Deimne’s deferential “the adults.”

“Maybe we can find out more tomorrow,” Dalvin said then. “How ‘bout some sleep now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Deimne and Tristan together, and they hauled themselves to bed.

-x-

_Two Days Left_

Dalvin even offered to take an extra shift of guard duty the next day just to see if they could learn any more about this “blood sacrifice” business that’d left Deimne so rattled the night before. He was in luck, as the old guys all showed up right after breakfast to have another chat with Lewyn. Dalvin didn’t have Deimne’s qualms about really listening in, so he heard Lewyn say to the other guys that the proceedings were to be “top secret” which meant that things were going to be real fun.

It still was frustrating as hell because all the old guys had been playing at Top Secret for so long that nobody raised their voice for a good long while.

“How can you dismiss out of hand something that might save lives?”

It took a moment before Dalvin realized Lord Finn was the one yelling at Lewyn; the knight from Leonster didn’t usually get loud _like_ that outside of a real battle.

“I realize that you’ve been breathing in nonsense about it being ‘sweet and proper to die for one’s country’ since you put on a page’s uniform, but you should’ve put that to rest once we left Thracia.” That was Lewyn talking, for sure.

“Every victory in this fight was paid for with sacrifice.” That was Oifey, and he sounded so weirdly hesitant that Dalvin wasn’t sure which side Oifey was agreeing with.

"Do you think you've been kept alive for so long only for this?" That was Lewyn again. "Once we get past Miletos you'll be within sight of Chalphy. You're willing to give that up?”

"I'd give up anything to prevent the children from dying in needless battle when there's another way of advancing,” said Oifey, and now Dalvin realized where the battle lines of this argument were.

"They are no longer children.” And that was Prince Shannan weighing in.

Slowly, piece by piece, the truth dawned on Dalvin. They were talking about who to send on a suicide mission.

-x-

“S-suicide?” Deimne had a hard time even getting the word out. “You mean, as in ‘not coming back’? As in, _dying_?”

“Yeah. I do. Or they did,” Dalvin replied. “I guess they talked some more to that village elder who told Princess Altena about how a sacrifice was the only way forward.”

“How’s that?” It was hard for Deimne to even get his head around the idea.

“From what they were saying, nobody can get close to Miletos. Prince Julius has so much dark power that I guess even the _grass_ around the palace is a different color.”

“It’s different, yeah,” agreed Tristan “Hermina said she could see it from above when she did reconnaissance. She didn’t want to fly in close, either, because the air felt bad.”

“Okay.” Dalvin looked more annoyed than grateful for the interruption. “So, if anyone crosses into that zone, unless they’re already someone who works for Julius, then Julius comes out and... claims them.”

“Claims... he kidnaps them?” Tristan’s eyebrows arched the way they did whenever Dalvin was being confusing about something. “Or kills them?”

“Kills. He summons a dragon who... eats all their life force. I guess the dragon’s the thing that needs all these sacrifices.” Dalvin held out his hands, palms up, to show them he just didn’t have any more than that. “But once he gets a sacrifice, he goes away for a while. I guess some mothers have started doin’ this to save their children, ‘cause the child hunts slack off for a couple of days after Julius gets his kill.”

“So, if we just send someone in there and let Julius take them, he’ll go away and we can seize Miletos?” Deimne wasn’t sure if this was too good to be true… or too bad to be true.

“That’s what it sounded like,” came Dalvin’s reply.

“So who are they gonna send?” asked Tristan after they’d all stewed in silence over it a little while.

“They never agreed on anything. I guess it was just a... a...”

“Back-up plan?” prompted Deimne.

“Yeah.”

“That’ll never happen,” said Tristan. There wasn’t really anything else to say.

Deimne spent long hours that night staring at the ceiling of the tent, hoping the adults could puzzle out the difference between something too good to be true… and the other thing.

**To Be Continued**


	2. The Expendable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new piece of intelligence sets a plan into motion faster than anyone would like, and Deimne and his friends make a fateful decision that mirrors what Lewyn and the adults are up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subkiddy universe or no, this borrows one idea from one of the FE4 manga (Oosawa). You may know it when you see it.

_One Day Left_

At daybreak everything seemed about normal; Princess Altena and Hermina came in from their reconnaissance flights as the sky grew light. Prince Leif and Prince Ares lured out some more of the dark priests of Miletos, but aside from this skirmish an eerie, heavy stillness hung over the coast. Deimne stood guard duty once more while Lewyn and the other adults conferred in response to the latest news from their fliers. This time he took a strategic position where, thanks to a small curved mirror tucked into his hand that morning by Tristan, he could actually see what was going on in the tent. The mirror had the arms of New Thracia on its back in seed pearls so it must’ve belonged to Tristan’s sister Jeanne, and if anyone asked Deimne planned to say truthfully he was using it to see around corners for extra security. It took him a while to get the mirror into a position where he could see the veterans as something more than a blur of blue, black, and violet around the white of Lewyn and his maps.

“Altena and Hermina each report that Imperial troops are massing on the Chalphy side of the strait,” Lewyn said as Deimne fussed with the mirror. “They have construction supplies for a pontoon bridge and are building supports on the Chalphy shore.”

“How long do we have before a bridge might span the strait?” The black shape of Lord Oifey looked to Lord Finn when he said it, as the knight from Leonster had experience on building things like dams and bridges in the days when Leonster had a regular army.

“Given the resources the Empire has at hand and their track record, no more than two days and a night,” came the reply from the blue shadow at the opposite side of the mirror. “If they forego working at night that might buy us a day’s time.”

“Right,” said Lewyn, and he thumped the pale rectangle of the map at the mirror’s center. “And once that’s completed, we can look forward to an endless supply of reinforcements from every duchy in Grannvale, plus whatever they can draw in from the occupation forces in Verdane and Agustria.”

“Assuming they can spare anyone from the war going on in Agustria right now,” said the violet figure of Prince Shannan.

“Even worse,” Lewyn continued, “we’ll soon be contending with Helswath, Valflame, and whatever else Queen Hilda has up her sleeve. I know we’ve talked about retreating south, and there’s still the possibility of manning boats and making to Chalphy by sea while they’re occupied with the bridge…”

“Or sending in our best as a strike force right now,” put in Prince Shannan, but Lewyn pretended not to hear him.

Deimne gave one more nudge to the mirror and the men inside the tent finally appeared in the silver disk as tiny, clear figures, just as Lewyn thumped his map a second time.

“This means, my friends, that we’ve run out of time to solve the conundrum given us by the village elder.”

Everything in the mirror went very still for a moment, like it was a decorative scene on the mirror’s back instead of a reflection of right now.

“Ah.” That was Lord Finn. He and Lord Oifey just looked at one another over Prince Shannan’s head in a way that made Deimne very uncomfortable.

“So, tonight, then?” Oifey said it like they were just discussing where to set up camp for the night.

“Between midnight and daybreak, I think. There’s less of a chance of being waylaid by someone who isn’t Prince Julius… and less of a chance that any of our own might interfere,” Finn replied. “That also would give me a few hours to gather my thoughts…”

“Oh no. It’s not going to be you. Thracia was your fight and you could make any gamble you pleased, but the battle for Chalphy is mine. We have Lord Seliph within sight of his homeland now, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get him there.”

“No, you won’t,” Prince Shannan said to the both of them. The prince grasped Lord Oifey’s hand by the wrist and held it close to his own heart. “Send in the best we’ve got and let us take on Julius and his girl. Even if we’re just talking holy weapons, there’s more of us right now. _Trust me_. We are Crusaders. We were born for this.”

“Twelve of you were created for this,” said Oifey, very low and solemn. He didn’t take his hand back from Shannan. “And we have only three weapons now.”

At this, Shannan let go of Oifey and aimed a finger right at Lewyn.

“Then why doesn’t he take the Forseti tome out of its hiding place before sending one of you to die?”

And so Shannan kicked off the most titanic argument Deimne ever had seen unfold between the veterans of Lord Seliph’s army. Nobody really raised their voice. Nobody really got angry. But Deimne could practically _see_ the ghosts of Duke Sigurd and Prince Quan and all the other martyrs hovering over the tent as the men he’d respected and looked to for inspiration tore into one another… and themselves. Mostly themselves.

“And while we’re talking about _that_ , don’t you think I’ve felt a share of responsibility all these years for _advising_ those closest to me into a complete disaster?”

“Well, if we’re going to pick over who did or didn’t do what twenty years ago, you may as well send me in alone,” Prince Shannan retorted. “I’m the one who didn’t do a good job of guarding Deirdre and got us into this mess.”

“ _Shannan_. If it only takes one life to pass, we can’t risk more than that number,” said Oifey, and now he took hold of Shannan’s shoulder. “And I’m not risking yours. You’re Isaach’s last hope.”

“Isaach got liberated without me. If we take out Julius here and now—”

“Lewyn, _please_ …” And the other three turned to look at Finn, because talking over Prince Shannan wasn’t something he _did_. He sounded choked up, almost like this whole discussion was making him sick. “Pass your judgment. I trust you know which of us is essential, and which can be deployed.”

The tiny reflection of Lewyn in Deimne’s mirror looked angry, at least that’s what Deimne thought. The tactician was usually above all of them, almost like a god himself, and Deimne’d never seen an expression quite like that on Lewyn’s face. But maybe Deimne was seeing things, the way the blood churning in his ears now was making it harder to pay attention and his own stomach felt like it was roiling from the horror of listening to this conversation. 

“We’ll have fate settle this,” Lewyn said. He held up one hand and Deimne caught a flash of gold between his fingers. Lewyn looked right at Prince Shannan and added, “This coin has only two sides.” 

There was something artful in the way Lewyn flipped it into the air, something strangely exhilarating about the way Oifey shouted out “heads” in the same moment that Finn called “tails.” Deimne heard the coin strike Lewyn’s small desk, and he craned his neck to try to catch a glimmer in the mirror as the coin spun, and spun... then, at last, it toppled over to one side.

Deimne couldn’t see which way the toss had gone, but from the way Finn abruptly turned his back upon Lewyn, he figured it was tails. But Oifey picked up the gold piece and slipped it into his own pocket, and it dawned upon Deimne that Oifey had actually “won” the toss. Meaning, of course, that he’d lost it. 

“Well, that’s it,” Lewyn said without looking at either of them. “Go about your business as usual. We’ll reconvene after supper.”

-x-

Back in the safety of his own tent, Deimne blurted out the story to Tristan and Dalvin. He could see that neither of them wanted to believe any of it.

“We can’t accept this,” Deimne said as he ran out of breath. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t let Lord Oifey ride off to his death after everything he did for us.”

“Me either,” said Tristan. “But having the coin toss go the other way isn’t any better. Lord Finn rescued my sister from murderers and trained her to be a knight and now she’s going to be a queen. I owe him.”

“We can’t undo the coin toss,” said Deimne. “And I’m not suggesting we convince Lewyn to change his mind on it.”

“Yeah, that’ll never happen,” Dalvin put in.

“So what are we going to do? Try to talk Lewyn out of doing this at all?”

“I don’t think we can. Dalvin’s right— once Lewyn’s set on a course... he’s never changed it. Ever. Has he?”

“Never,” said Tristan.

“Someone has to go.”

“Yeah,” said Tristan.

“It has to be one of us.”

“Yeah.” Dalvin didn’t sound too sure about that.

But it couldn’t be Iucharba or Amid because they had duchies to rule after the war. They could ask Hawk or Asaello to go, maybe, but those two hadn’t stumbled into this blood sacrifice plot the way Deimne, Tristan, and Dalvin had. In the end, any of them was right for the task for the same reasons that Oifey and Finn used a coin toss that left Prince Shannan out of it.

They were expendable.

“There’s no way we’re sending one of the girls,” said Deimne, in part to reassure himself that they all weren’t that desperate.

“And Charlot’s a kid. Sending him in would be... cowardly,” said Tristan.

“Plus his dad would probably gut us for it,” Dalvin muttered.

“It can’t be Dalvin, either,” Deimne said then.

“Why not?” Dalvin looked offended at being lumped in with Charlot and the girls.

“Because you’ll be too slow in getting there. You think you can outrun Lord Oifey when he’s on a horse, or Lord Finn either? There’s no chance. Even if you had a head start on them, you’d never beat them there. Tristan and I could make up the time.” 

“On those nags the two of you ride? Fat chance,” said Dalvin. He wasn’t all wrong, as the horses they used were nothing compared to the destriers of the veteran knights. “I’ll go right now and we’ll just get it over with.”

“In the middle of the day, when everyone’s sitting around camp? Dalvin, what if we’re wrong and Prince Julius comes out with an army behind him and nobody’s ready for it?” Deimne really didn’t want to think over this possibility for longer than it took to say it aloud. “Seriously, it has to be me or Tristan.”

“It has to be one of us,” Tristan said again. Almost like if he said it enough, he’d start to believe it.

“We’ll settle it the same way Lewyn did,” said Deimne, because he couldn’t think of anything better. “Dalvin, get out your gold.”

Dalvin did so, and as he stood there with the coin in his hand, he looked from Deimne to Tristan and back again.

“So, uh, do you guys have any last words before I do this?”

“If I win this wager, make sure Prince Leif takes good care of Jeanne.” Tristan said it steady and proud. Lord Oifey should’ve been pleased with his student right then.

“If it’s me, you know… look out for Muirne.” Deimne definitely hoped Lord Seliph would take care of his sister, but to say that just presumed too much about what the Scion of Light felt for Muirne. Little nobodies from Isaach didn’t get to presume like that.

“Heads!” called out Tristan, even as Deimne called for tails.

The coin didn’t spin. It landed squarely in Dalvin’s palm and lay there for Deimne and Tristan to read their fate. 

“It’s tails,” Dalvin said through a grimace as he held the coin out to them.

“Sorry,” said Tristan, and though he sounded sincere, Deimne saw a burst of pure relief in Tristan’s face.

Of course Tristan was relieved. Nobody in their right mind wouldn’t be relieved at escaping a death sentence; for a moment, Deimne let himself wonder just how far gone all the adults actually were. 

“Shouldn’t we tell Lord Seliph about this?” Dalvin said as he thrust the fatal coin back into his money-pouch. “I mean, we really aren’t going through with it, are we?”

Deimne opened his mouth but a hot, painful ball of something lodged in his throat wouldn’t even let him talk. Tristan spoke up instead.

“I’ll trade shifts with Iucharba to see what Lewyn and the rest discuss after supper. Maybe they’ll come up with something by then.”

**To Be Continued in the Actual Final Chapter, Clear Way Forward**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said it was Genfic because the main POV character is a bit dense about some things but y'all can read what you like into Oifey and Shannan's relationship.


	3. Clear Way Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between curfew and dawn, a borrowed pocket-watch marks out time as two sets of plans unfold in the race to capture Miletos.

_One Day Left, Continued_

Deimne got his tongue back on entering the regular bustle of the mess tent. Most everyone was getting bored and restless with the stand-off between the Liberation Army and Miletos and it showed in how loud everyone was being right now.

“Hey, Daisy. Did you make me something special for dinner?”

“Why would I make anything special for you?” Daisy dumped a ladle of fish stew into his bowl and tossed two biscuits on top. One of them sunk halfway into the stew, like a foundering ship.

“No reason. I’m just in there trying my best.” Deimne attempted what he hoped was a charming smile but Daisy rolled her eyes and went to fill Charlot’s bowl.

It was probably better if Daisy didn’t know that he kind of liked her. Daisy still had a thing for Prince Shannan, anyway, and Prince Shannan’s happiness mattered a lot more than his own. Especially now. Deimne shook his head over his own silliness and looked for a good place to sit down for one last supper.

Now that his sister was married to Prince Leif, Tristan was important enough to sit with nobles, so he was over at a table with Jeanne, Leif, his own lord Prince Ares, and Lord Finn. Deimne wondered if maybe he should have this last meal with his own sister, but she was over with Lord Seliph and their heads were pretty close together and Deimne didn’t want to interfere. Besides, if he looked either Muirne or Lord Seliph in the eye right now and tried to pretend everything was fine, he’d probably confess everything. Then Lewyn, Oifey, and Shannan all sat down at that table and Deimne knew he didn’t want to be there.

He ended up with Dalvin, who was with his own sister Creidne and Iucharba of Dozel tonight. Creidne and Iucharba were kind of together now, even if they hadn’t admitted it the way Jeanne and Prince Leif had an actual wedding.

“So I heard we might be seeing your brother Brian before long,” Dalvin said to Iucharba, and Deimne kicked him under the table. Nobody was supposed to know about the bridge over the strait.

“Hope we do meet him soon,” said Iucharba. “When we do, I’m gonna kill him.”

He said it without even any anger in his voice. Iucharba placed one of his hands on top of Creidne’s and smiled at her like killing his last remaining family was a gift to her personally. That somehow made Deimne feel a little better about the idea of being dead in a couple of hours.   
This was a holy war. People had to die.

Deimne was almost through with his second soggy biscuit when Lewyn got up and clapped his hands. Since Lewyn speaking was considered the same thing as Lord Seliph speaking, everyone finally quieted down.

“Attention Liberation Camp! All soldiers and reserves are expected to be on alert tonight. Be prepared to move out at a moment’s notice. Now, as you were.”

“Good,” grunted Iucharba as everyone returned to their supper, and now it was Creidne’s turn to smile.

Deimne and Dalvin just stared at one another for a moment before Dalvin shrugged and resumed eating. The plan was going into motion. Deimne ate his final biscuit one crumbled piece at a time. He’d always liked the taste of plain food, like camp biscuits.

-x-

Tristan came back from his extra shift of guard duty with his head so full of information it almost ached.

“At the first morning twilight they’ll sound the alarm, pretending there’s a raid. Oifey’s going to lead a recon party in one direction around that patch of brush to the west of us and Finn’ll lead one the opposite way ‘round to make it look like a real thing. Shannan and Lewyn’ll have everyone at the ready. When Oifey reaches the dead zone, he’s going in, and since the others with him will be infantry they won’t be able to stop him.”

Dalvin and Deimne exchanged a glance.

“Guess our plans aren’t all that bad if the veterans are thinking some of the same things,” said Deimne.

“I know, right? Once Oifey’s down, Finn’s party gets to check it out and sound the all-clear. If Julius shows up with an army instead of doing what we think he’s going to do, they’ll rush back to camp and let us know we have to head south like our lives are depending on it. ‘Cause they will.”

“Yeah, they make some alright plans,” said Dalvin. “How do we get them to follow ours instead?”

“We make ours happen first,” Tristan replied. “Deimne, you slip out and get a head start. Then Dalvin and I will rouse Oifey right before twilight, slowing him down while making him deal with our own reports of trouble in the area… which won’t be true.”

“What if Lewyn knows we’re full of it?” Dalvin said aloud what had to be on all of their minds.

“Deimne’s going to ride fast,” Tristan replied.

“Fast as my old nag can carry me,” Deimne chimed in.

“We’ll sort of let them do what they were going to do anyway, but they’ll be too late to stop us.” Tristan pulled a surprise out of his jacket. “I borrowed this from Prince Leif to help us keep time tonight.”

“That’s great!” said Deimne. “Uh… Lord Finn didn’t think anything was funny with you borrowing the watch or the mirror, right?”

“I don’t think he saw. He was staring off into space for most of dinner. Or looking at Lewyn… I’m not really sure.”

Tristan set the watch on top of his bag, between his cot and Deimne’s. 

“All right. Let’s call this a night.”

“Right,” Deimne and Dalvin chorused, the way they always did.

_Zero Days Left_

Deimne wasn’t sleeping. Maybe the sound of the pocket watch was keeping him up. Not that he really needed sleep, since it didn’t matter anymore if he could aim his bow straight or not. It might’ve been nice to sleep one more time.

_If the plan goes right, by this time tomorrow you’ll be dead._

It couldn’t be Amid or Iucharba, not when they were the future of Friege and Dozel. It couldn’t be Hawk, because he was Hawk the Brave and had put his life on the line for all of Manster and deserved better. It couldn’t be Asaello, because he had that orphanage full of children waiting on his return back in Connaught. It couldn’t be Tristan, because he was the son of a real knight and would actually be somebody in Agustria when he got home with Prince Ares. It couldn’t be Dalvin because he really would be too slow in reaching the dead zone. And Charlot was just a little kid and slow in the bargain.

Deimne wasn’t anyone and never would be. He was a kid on a steppe pony trying to ride along with the greatest knights alive on their war-horses.

“I’m no good anyway,” he said. “This is the absolute best I can do for everyone now.” 

He closed his hand around the pendant he wore out of habit, then remembered something rather important about that pendant.

“Oh. I was supposed to bring this back. I’m sorry, Karen.”

He hadn’t thought of Karen in a while and after all he’d seen, Deimne had some trouble remembering her face, but he could imagine her voice and pretend what she might say to him right now.

“Why beat yourself up?” asked Imaginary Karen. “Haven’t you already seen that you could be a hero, even be a real Crusader, and not ever feel like you’re doing enough to be worth anything? Just let the adults do what they were going to do. They know a lot more about everything than you.”

“I can do this,” Deimne whispered back. “And I should do this. Because…”

Because every other option was worse.

Around three in the morning, Deimne said his good-byes to Dalvin and Tristan. He left Karen’s necklace curled up inside a letter to Muirne. He’d promised to give it back to her, so it’d be doubly unfair, he thought, if he was buried with it… assuming there was even enough of him to bury. Deimne left the tent they shared one last time and went to go bother Asaello at his sentry post.

“You look like hell,” he said to Asaello. “How ‘bout you let me go out scouting a little ways? I’ll give a shout if there’s trouble.”

“Yeah, sure,” said the Hitman of Connaught, who sounded a little surprised and mostly half-asleep.

Deimne smiled a little to himself. It sort of tickled him to put one over on Daisy’s brother. When you weren’t anybody useful, people were glad to let you help in whatever little ways you could if it made their life easier.

-x-

Tristan, knowing what he knew, wasn’t surprised to find Oifey fully dressed when he went to rouse him. He’d been sitting at his portable camp desk, his hands folded in front of him, and Tristan wondered if he’d been praying or just thinking about what a mess everything was.

“Sir?”

“Come in, Tristan.”

Even if he didn’t know what was up, Tristan was certain he’d have taken note of the sadness in his old teacher’s smile.

“If you’re apprehensive about tonight,” Oifey continued, “there’s no need to be. We’re just taking every precaution, and Lewyn has a plan worked out should anything happen.”

“That’s good to hear, sir. Dalvin and I are both feeling strongly that something’s not right. I don’t know if you could call it a premonition… we’re sensing something out there on the highlands.”

“Yeah, there’s something out there,” Dalvin said from behind Tristan’s shoulder. 

Tristan kept the most neutral expression he could while Oifey studied the both of them.

“All right,” Oifey said, and rose to his feet. His head nearly grazed the canvas of the tent as he stood. “Let’s report it to Lewyn.”

Tristan and Dalvin followed him to the main pavilion where Lewyn was standing with Lord Seliph and half a dozen others, waiting to sound the alarm on the attack that wasn’t actually happening. He listened stone-faced as Oifey told him of their concerns.

“Is it possible they’ve completed the bridge already?” Oifey asked then, since it didn’t matter any more if the bridge stayed a secret.

“No,” said Lewyn without even needing to consider it.

“No,” agreed Lord Finn, who’d just entered the tent, fully dressed for the part he was supposed to play in the night’s plot. “This cannot be the reinforcements from the mainland.”

Tristan heard Dalvin suck in a noisy breath like he was afraid the jig might be up. Nothing happened.

“Allow me to lead a party to investigate,” Oifey said to Lord Seliph, who was standing bleary-eyed behind Lewyn.

“Let me accompany you, sir,” Tristan said at once.

“Run what we discussed but with cavalry only,” Lewyn said then, scanning them all with his cool green eyes. “Oifey, take Tristan and Amid up the coast. Finn, go with Leif and Ares on the inland route. Hermina will fly down the middle with Altena following a safe distance behind to keep an eye on things. Jeanne stays in reserve in case we need healers besides Leif. Seliph and Shannan will organize the rest and we’ll await the signal to move— forward or in retreat. We won’t remain here.”

“Where’s Deimne?” Seliph asked then. “He should go along with Oifey.”

“He offered to go out… scouting…” said Asaello from the edge of their group, like he’d only now realized that might be wrong.

“Scouting? Tonight?” said Prince Seliph, and from the corner of his eye Tristan could see Lord Finn whip around with an especially grim expression on his face.

Tristan realized that in that instant, Finn was putting together this “scouting mission” and the swapped sentry shifts and maybe even the mirror and pocket watch. The looks that went from Finn to Oifey to Lewyn and then to Prince Shannan were as easy to see as a ball being tossed; Tristan recognized it because he’d been able to do the same thing with Deimne and Dalvin when there was something they wanted to keep from Lord Seliph.

“You’ll find him, Oifey,” Lord Seliph said now in the gentle way he had where an order came out more like he was asking for a special favor that the other person might turn down.

“We’ll find him, Your Highness” Oifey promised.

“Dalvin, you’ll be in my party.” Prince Shannan sounded almost friendly but there was no doubt he was ordering Dalvin as a prince to a soldier. Dalvin saluted and went to his side and so Tristan lost sight of his fellow conspirator.

Meanwhile, Lewyn was busy directing Finn and the princes on their own orders. Finn’s horse, a chestnut with a mane and tail like spun flax, was probably the fastest one they had, bred for quick strikes and raids and getting out of things alive, and Tristan was close enough to see Lewyn put his lips close to Finn’s ear and say, “Ride like the wind. Anticipate the worst,” and hear the low response “I do.”

“Tristan?” Oifey said to him then. “Our horses are ready and so is Amid. If at any point I give you orders to stay behind, you will.”

“Of course, sir.”

-x-

Deimne urged his little pony across the rough terrain of Miletos as fast as she could possibly go. It was thrilling, really, to feel the still night air rushing through his hair and around his face and even through his teeth. He was riding now like someone out of the stories that Oifey and Shannan and Mother Aideen would tell them all when they were small, the messenger who delivered the message just in time despite impossible obstacles. Except he, Deimne, was the message being sent to Prince Julius and Princess Ishtar. 

He couldn’t make out the shape of the grand city in the western darkness, but Deimne knew as his pony began the steep descent towards the coast when he crossed over into the dead zone around Miletos. It felt like fire, thunder, and cold all at once. His hair stood on end, his skin felt like he’d been drenched with a bucket of ice and then burned. The two warp circles lighting up the grass in front of him almost came as a relief from the agony Deimne was already in.

“This one’s mine, Ishtar!”

It sounded like a little kid, like Charlot, mixed up with the hiss of a steppe adder. Purple light rose in a glowing mist from the tome in the Imperial Prince’s hands and then shot in rays all around them. Deimne saw the Scion of Darkness in the middle of that unholy light— cloak and red hair streaming even though there wasn’t any wind, face pale and red eyes lit with a bone-chilling gaze. Just beyond Prince Julius, between the bursts of purple light, stood Princess Ishtar with her plume of pale hair fluttering. They were both smiling.

They were so close that if Deimne had been ready, if he’d showed up there to fight and not to surrender, he could have hit either of them in the eye, in the throat, and been sure of a kill. Then again it didn’t matter if he was ready. The aura around Prince Julius was so strong that everything went like a dream, like the kind of nightmare where it was impossible to move or to speak or even to scream…

Maybe a true Crusader could’ve fought it off. Maybe someone else would’ve been granted a miracle as the dark dragon took shape around him in a terrible spiral. Deimne wasn’t born to work miracles or to do impossible deeds, and so he didn’t. He did exactly what was required of him in the face of darkness. His friends would never know if he pissed himself before or after the dragon’s jaws came down and wouldn’t find dishonor in it.

-x-

Thick brush separated the two cavalry parties; Oifey led Tristan and Amid along the coastal route while Finn and the princes looped around the brush on a path that while longer featured fewer sand-traps for the horses. Both paths were supposed to end in the same place, where bluffs sloped down to the lower ground where the grand citadel of Miletos stood on a peninsula pointing to Chalphy.

Hugging the coastal bluffs meant losing the view to Miletos shortly after they left. Even in broad daylight they wouldn’t have been able to see how far ahead of them Deimne’d gotten or if the rest of the cavalry was closing in on him, so they just rode hard and rode blind beneath the paling sky still speckled with stars, Hermina barely visible in the sky above to their left. When a burst of violet light broke over the crest of the bluffs, Tristan knew it couldn’t be the sun. The rising sun couldn’t possibly be there in the west, just like it wasn’t lightning coming out of a clear sky with no clap of thunder. The shock of the false dawn spooked all three of their horses and made Hermina’s pegasus scream. Amid let out a string of curses and even Oifey had trouble keeping his cool. As the veteran knight fought to control his destrier and himself, Tristan realized that only now had Oifey lost hope of somehow getting to Julius before anyone else.

“Sir, I recommend we tarry here until the other party reports back to us as Lord Seliph and Lewyn directed. If we haven’t seen them by daybreak, send me forward to investigate while the rest of you retreat to camp.”

“That sounds workable, Tristan.” 

Oifey almost sounded his normal self again. The veterans were so damn good at sounding like nothing was wrong when everything was wrong. Tristan had to admire it.

“But there’s a battle up ahead!” Amid shouted. Tristan looked over at the noble from Friege and realized how very confused Amid was by everything happening around him. If Tristan were innocent, he should’ve been that confused and upset… and plainly he wasn’t.

“Not a battle,” said Oifey, so low that Tristan hardly could hear him. “A murder.”

It wasn’t quite daybreak when Tristan spotted three riders approaching. Prince Ares and Prince Leif, Tristan realized, with Lord Finn in the lead on that beautiful chestnut. They’d secured the area the way the plan the veterans thought they were following called for, because the most fleet-footed horse in camp hadn’t been able to out-race Deimne’s pony this time. Tristan stared at the bundle on the back of Finn’s horse and thought he could make out the shape of Deimne’s skinny legs under the white fabric of Finn’s cloak, now soaked through with things Tristan didn’t want to think about. The quiver dangling empty and useless alongside it had the strap that Mother Aideen embroidered in green and yellow thread for Deimne back in Tirnanog, the gift she presented him before Oifey took him on his first scouting mission not that many years ago. Maybe Tristan’d been the coward after all in accepting the outcome of their wager…

“Sir,” Lord Finn said to Oifey, “Prince Julius and his companion have retreated as we predicted. The remaining garrison at Miletos can be easily subdued and we have a chance to secure the coast before the bridge from Chalphy is completed. The way forward is clear.”

“Clear,” repeated Oifey. 

As with so many exchanges between those two, Tristan heard the weight of things not said aloud. In one movement they both turned toward Tristan and he felt their eyes on him, cold blue and anguished brown.

He saluted.

“Sirs. I admit to full knowledge of and participation in Deimne’s plan to sacrifice himself for the greater good. I surrender myself to you and to Lord Seliph and await your judgment.”

Tristan wondered if he was going to be flogged, or maybe shot. Since his father was a knight and not a peasant maybe he’d just lose his head for it, which sounded better than a flogging. What actually happened was the sun broke over the eastern mountains and soft colors washed over the men, the horses, the soiled bundle of cloth and the empty quiver with its embroidered strap. Tristan’s flesh and blood remembered what his brain could not, that he was a teenaged boy and not a hardened soldier, and he buckled. Judgment came in the form of Tristan being held close by his teacher as he wept for his slaughtered friend.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that. There is a potential sequel to this that fixes everything. Sort of. :/

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is something you can actually do in the game, and are in fact urged to try by a village elder in Chapter 10. The idea of what Julius/Loptous does with his blood sacrifice may not be exactly what's going on per FE5, but that's more or less what FE4 itself gives us.
> 
> Anyone familiar with Wilfred Owen's "Dulce et decorum est" knows exactly which Old Lie I am referencing here. If not, I gave y'all a pointer.


End file.
